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Chapter thirty-six

Rebecca

I glance around at my sparkling clean apartment, all the boxes finally gone since I unpacked the very last one earlier today. I decided it was time I fully moved in. It was time. Plus I’ve lived here for four months now. The boxes needed to go.

Since it’s the All-Star break, Holt’s utilizing his time off to move into his new house, so I’ve been keeping myself busy with all the things I’ve been putting off and avoiding, like spring cleaning and unpacking.

I offered to help him with his move, but he insisted he and the guys had it under control. We made plans to hang out later in the week and have a date night, which I’m excited about.

My stomach growls, and I check the time on my phone.

“Shit. How is it dinner time already?”

I’m not usually one to miss meals, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.

I intended to go grocery shopping after I finished cleaning, but that’s not happening now because there’s no way in hell I’m going to the store hungry.

Instead, I make my way into the kitchen to see what I can scrounge up.

Peaches comes out from wherever she was hiding and sits in front of her bowl, glaring at me.

“I know, Peach.” I lean down to pet her before digging out a can of her food and scooping it into her bowl .

That done, I browse the contents of my fridge and pantry for a few seconds before grabbing an apple and the package of sliced cheese. That’ll have to do.

I pour myself a glass of water and take my snack into the living room. Once settled on the couch, I turn the television on and flip to SportsCenter, mostly for background noise.

I’m scrolling aimlessly on my phone a little while later, having finished my food, contemplating getting up and starting a load of laundry, when one of the hosts says, “We’re getting reports that Holt Abbott, starting goalie for the Orlando Storm is on the trading block.

” I gasp, grabbing the remote and turning up the volume.

“Vancouver and LA are apparently interested,” he continues.

No.

No way.

“Do you really think they’d trade him? He’s played his entire career with the Storm. This is his second season as their starting goalie. He had a rough start to the year, but he appears to have turned it around recently,” the second host says.

“Anything is possible. Like you said, he had a rocky start to the season.” I clench my fist at their words. “First, the undisclosed lower body injury. Then he took a leave of absence from the team. We still don’t know why. There’s been rumors about what was going on, but nothing’s been confirmed.”

“The Storm are pretty far out of the race for a playoff spot, so it makes sense that they’re in the market to sell. His no-trade clause kicks in in July, so if they’re going to trade him, now is when they should do it.”

I grab the remote and hit the Power button, having seen enough.

Is he being traded? What’ll happen to us if they trade him?

He just bought a house. It would devastate him. I’d be devastated.

The team wouldn’t do that to him, would they?

But it is a business.

They might if they don’t think he’s the goalie they need.

I grab my phone to call him and see if he knows what’s going on.

My call goes straight to voicemail, and I leave him a quick message.

Sighing, I go to set my phone down and then decide to try Sutton.

She’s always got a pulse on anything the media is saying about the team.

Maybe she knows what’s happening. It rings a few times and goes to voicemail, too.

Now what?

I try Holt again, knowing I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t talk to him, or at least someone, and find out what’s going on. Someone has to know, right?

Once again, it goes to voicemail. I know from his text this morning that they were bringing over the last load of stuff to the new house today. He also told me to come over whenever, so I guess whenever is now. I text him asking him to call me before getting up to get ready.

It takes me a record ten minutes to shower and put on clean clothes. Once dressed, I check my phone to make sure I didn’t miss any calls or texts while I was getting ready, but there aren’t any. I pull on a pair of sneakers, grab my car keys and my purse, and head for the elevator.

It must be my lucky night because the door opens as soon as I hit the button. As I’m making my way across the lobby, the doorman calls after me.

“Dr. Jansen.”

I plaster on a smile and turn to face him. “Hi.”

“Sorry to bother you, but this got delivered for you a few minutes ago. I was about to call you.” He holds up a plain manila envelope.

“Thank you.” I take it from him, noticing it’s handwritten with no return address.

“A courier delivered it. One of the local companies.”

I mutter my thanks again before turning and walking out of the building.

Once I’m in my car, with the doors locked, I open the envelope. I reach in and pull out a stack of over a dozen pictures, and a folded piece of white paper.

What in the world?

I flip through the pictures, my jaw dropping more and more with every photo.

There are pictures of Holt and Hazel, all three of us when we went to the James Bond museum, some of just me and Holt, when we were house hunting or leaving the arena, and a few of Hadley and Hazel.

There are even some of just me, getting out of my car.

My skin crawls at the memory of feeling as though I was being watched on multiple occasions. I guess I wasn’t being paranoid.

My mind flashes to the silver car I swear I’ve seen multiple times over the past few months. I know it’s a common enough color for a car, but something in the back of my mind tells me it’s not a coincidence.

That whoever was in that car is the person responsible for these photographs, or at the very least, they were paid to take them.

I stare at the folded piece of paper in my lap. It’s a note. It’s got to be. Do I really want to read it? I don’t, but I know I have to. So I do.

I see you trying to move in on what’s mine.

Don’t think I didn’t see photos of you holding my daughter plastered all over the team’s social media.

You’re convenient because you live next door.

No other reason. He’ll realize what he’s missing soon enough.

That we make a great family. I think it’s time you step aside before someone gets hurt.

I gasp, dropping the letter. A shudder rolls through me as I sit in my car.

Is Kat watching me now?

Because I know without a shadow of a doubt that she’s behind this.

I scan the parking looking for the infamous silver sedan. Thankfully there’s no sign of it. Doesn’t mean that Kat isn’t still creeping around here.

Her showing up after the game in Vancouver is all because of me. The pictures she’s referring to have to be the ones on the team’s social media of me holding Hazel at the game. She saw it and realized he’s moved on. I drop my head into my hands.

This can’t be happening.

I can’t go through this again. Seeing someone I love get hurt because of me, because of my actions. Images of my dad after his accident, when he was in a wheelchair for weeks and could barely stand, flash through my head.

Holt may not have been physically hurt when Kat showed up after the game, but it definitely took a toll on him mentally—and it’s all my fault.

I should have trusted my instincts when I first took this job and kept everyone at arm’s length. I most certainly should not have allowed myself to fall in love with the grumpy goalie who happens to be a single dad.

I inhale a few shaky breaths, wiping away the few tears that have fallen, climb out of my car, and head back into the apartment building.

The doorman gives me a strange look as I walk by, probably wondering why I’m coming back so quickly, but I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile and a wave before getting on the elevator.

I have to break up with Holt.

The realization has me crying again, and this time, I can barely contain the sobs.

But it’s the only way to keep him and Hazel safe.

After it’s done, I’ll ask Sutton to have the social media team make a post on the team’s account about all the single players and include Holt in there, so Kat knows we’re not together anymore. Maybe that will get her to back off and leave him alone.

I let myself back into my apartment and drop my purse and the photos onto the kitchen table before making my way into my room. I fall onto the bed, sobbing. What I thought might be my happily ever after can’t actually be.